


Words Spoken in Silence

by Idol_pastimes



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idol_pastimes/pseuds/Idol_pastimes
Summary: In the long quiet, after all the crying is done, what is there still to say?
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99





	Words Spoken in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to have been done and finished days ago, long before Monday's upcoming episode could smash it all to pieces with its canon-y goodness... but, time got away from me. Again. 
> 
> So, this is a Callum POV piece following on from the episode on the 24th March 2020. Because I needed it. Because I wanted it. And I have no idea how it became this convoluted or winding, or potentially OOC, but... it's done. And now, maybe, I can sleep. Until tomorrow, when they're back on my screen and inspiring (read: torturing) me once more. Enjoy?

__________________________________________________________________

The noises from the market crept in through the single-pane window. Callum’s eyes burned and he rolled his head back along the headboard, pointing his face into the shaft of sunlight that had found its way through the heavy curtains. 

Usually, when he was this tired, it was because he’d been up too late the night before. He’d always been a morning person. His alarm was normally set for six, then up, run, shower and dressed just about in time for Ben to drag himself into the kitchen and grunt a greeting before slugging back lukewarm coffee with a grimace. That also generally meant that he started to drag at around about eight or nine at night, his body clock getting him ready for bed and another early morning. 

The fact that it was nowhere near that time but he felt as though he could sleep for a week would have told him it wasn’t an ordinary day, even if he couldn’t vividly recall every searing second of the last twenty four hours.

No, today was different.

_He_ was different.

A deep sigh pushed its way into the room, and Callum honestly didn’t know for a solid second whether it had come from himself or Ben. God knew, he felt like sighing. It may well have been him. 

He rolled his head back, feeling the dints and grooves in the old wood but uninterested in wondering about its history. Callum had had enough of looking into the backstories of people and things. He was tired. Tired of having to dig deeper, fathom out motivations and of being the understanding one. Of working so hard to figure out why people did the things they did. 

No one did that for him. No one.

Nope. Callum Highway was an open book. He must be, because everyone he met was quite happy to take one look at him and read: doormat. Easy touch. Soft sap. Pushover. 

You want someone to take advantage of? To push around? Look no further. Halfwit’s your man.

He’ll tie himself in knots trying to please. 

_He’ll say yes to anything._

Callum snapped his eyes shut and dragged a palm over his face, pressing it roughly over his mouth. He made himself sick, sometimes. 

_Isn’t it just right, though? You couldn’t say no to Whit. Went so far as to make it to the registry office before someone else had to show you what the right thing was. What you should have done. Before someone else bailed you out._

_Couldn’t say no to Stuart. Let him move in. Let him take over your bedroom. Let him lock his addict girlfriend up and hold her there for days. Made them a goddamn meal to eat on the lid of a coffin, just because you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him how wrong that was._

_Couldn’t say no to Ben._

_No. Not ever._

_Not when he first screwed you over with the van. Not when he needed help looking for Louise and it was none of your business. Not when he was goading you, over and over, pulling you in with his charm and knowing looks. Not when he was bleeding out and the rest of the square was watching you. Not when you’d been beaten and starved and chained up for days and left in a pile of rubbish and frozen half solid and he didn’t even come to the hospital and-_

He cracked his skull back against the headboard and felt his face twist once more, tears welling in his eyes from either the impact or the rambling of his thoughts, he wasn’t sure. And here he was again, Callum Highway, police-trainee hopeful, a guy who wanted to help, wanted to protect, wanted to _serve_ again…

Sitting on the bed of a recently arrested ex-con previously imprisoned for manslaughter. All because he _could not say no_.

He was pitiful. Callum could feel the acid in his stomach churning. He felt nauseous. He felt powerless. And he had no idea how he could fix any of it.

His shoes, shirt and tie were piled up neatly in the corner of the room, jacket lying half folded over the nearby chair. If Callum squinted hard enough, tried hard enough, he could imagine that he’d just come back from his assessment. That he’d come home and chattered excitedly about how it had gone, that there would have been someone here to share it all with. To talk about his nerves, the way he’d gabbled through at least two of the questions but then taken a breath and calmed himself down, used the poise that he’d learned in the army, that he’d practised at the funeral parlour, that serenity that he’d needed time and again throughout his childhood to be able to shut out the noise and the anxiety and just focus on what he needed to do to _get through this_. He would have laughed about that nervousness, shared his quiet excitement and joy at finally pursuing something worthwhile, something he could believe in with someone who-

_Someone who what? Believed in_ him _?_

He spun his legs slowly over the side of the bed, resting the balls of his feet against the worn carpet. Leaning forward, he swept both hands through his by-now product-less hair and paused, fingers tangled in the soft strands, staring at the floor.

_Callum Highway._ He didn’t even know who that was anymore. Why would anyone believe in him if he had no clue who he was? Why would anyone even try?

Mick didn’t count; he would support anyone and anything. He was just a good guy. It was nice to hear that he was proud, that someone had his back. Mick had done a lot for him, been more of a dad than his real one had ever been. But Mick wasn’t his _someone_. Wasn’t who Callum wanted to be sharing his news with. Wasn’t who he wanted to tell about the moments of panic, that little swell of pride when the Inspector had given him the nod, singled him out as a ‘promising candidate’. Mick wasn’t who he’d wanted there to check if his tie was straight or go through his list of possible questions with; he wasn’t the face he wanted to see before going off to change the course of his future.

Callum twisted, just slightly, and looked over his shoulder at the huddled shape under the covers. He took in the mottled skin around Ben’s eyes, the puffiness there. The twitch in the fingers that were pulled up close to his face, resting open on the pillow. The tiny flick of hair at the back of his head that Callum knew was likely caused by himself, raking his fingertips over Ben’s scalp time and again, trying to calm him in the kitchen, to cajole him into meeting his eyes and, later, to soothe him into sleep.

He knew that Ben still had his contacts in, his hearing aid remaining tucked in place, useless as it had become. He knew that his eyes would be all the more irritated, watering and itchy. Knew that he hated sleeping with the aid in place. He knew that both would just make Ben all the more miserable.

_Maybe that’s what he needs,_ a mean voice whispered in Callum’s head. _Maybe he should feel some of the unpleasant consequences of his actions. Maybe, just maybe, that’s just a little of what he deserves._

Callum pushed himself carefully to his feet and circled the bed, snagging Ben’s glasses from the top of the chest of drawers before placing them gently on the bedside table, where Ben would find them easily. He reached out once more, trying to flatten the spike of hair that remained out of place, stroking down it with one fingertip. It jumped stubbornly back upright after each pass, and Callum smiled, sadly. 

He needed to get his head straight.

He pulled the door to behind him and wandered downstairs as quietly as he could; before he’d even considered his next course of action, he found himself sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water once more. It seemed to him to be beyond comedic at this point, just how often his major life events seemed to take place in this room. If he had any sense, Callum mused, he’d avoid it from this point on. He took a sip of water and then reached out with a long leg, hooking his backpack towards him. Unzipping it seemed alien; it held his CV, his references from the army and Jack’s police mate, his housekeys and a notepad that he’d been making notes in as he’d practised interview questions over the last few weeks. Trappings from another life, it seemed at that moment.

He pulled out the notebook and flipped through the pages, thinking back to where he’d been when he’d jotted each idea down, checking the dates and subheadings that he’d scribbled, pausing at the abrupt emptiness from the point Keanu had-

He shook his head and turned the book over, slamming it down with decisive finality. Callum unsnapped the pen from where he’d slid it, inside the ring-binding, and pulled the lid free with his teeth. Chewing on the plastic, he placed the nib of the pen at the top of the page and watched as his hand seemed to take on a life of its own.

____________________________________________________

**_Ben._ **

****

**_I don’t know why I’m doing this. Well, I do, really. Because I have things I need you to ~~hear~~_ ** **_know and I don’t think you caught everything that I said when we-_**

________________________________________________________

Callum shook his head and pulled the pen top from between his teeth, throwing it down on to the table and flopping back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. _Pull it together, Highway. If you can’t even write this stuff down, what hope have you got of ever saying it aloud? Or is that it? Would you rather walk away again, run away and hide because you’ve lost sight of who you are?_

_Or rather, who you’ve become?_

_Are you still just the guy who can’t say no? Or can you, for once in your life, stand up and tell someone you love exactly how you feel?_

Callum closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, slowly. When he sat up again, he was ready.

________________________________________________________

**_We started off on the wrong foot all those months ago. I know it, and some days I still struggle with it. What I did to you, what Stuart did because of me. What happened to Whit, with Hunter, all of it. Maybe we never got back on to the right foot, whatever that means._ **

****

**_I’ll never stop feeling guilty for all of the hurt I caused you. ~~Maybe that’s why I let you get away with so many of the things that you do.~~ _ **

****

**_And I’ll never stop being grateful for everything that you forgave me for. You showed me how much I was missing out on, hiding away from the world. You gave me the pride and the strength to show exactly who I am and that it was okay to love. That I could love you._ **

****

**_And I do. I love you. That hasn’t changed._ **

****

**_At least, it hasn’t gone away. But maybe it does need to change a little._ **

****

**_Because I’m scared, Ben. I’m really, truly scared that I’m losing a bit more of myself every time I say I love you and I get nothing back. And I don’t mean the words. I’m not that shallow._ **

****

**_I know you. Know how you work ~~and how you think you need to be seen~~. Know how your mind works. And I fell in love with that. _ **

****

**_I know how you feel about me, about us. But I’m not sure that what we’re doing to each other is fair._ **

****

**_When I said I don’t want to do this anymore, what I really mean is that I can’t. I can’t watch you push everyone away and treat people like pawns and deny everything that you’re feeling just to avoid facing facts. I can’t sit back and be second-string to every Mitchell-crisis, having to wait around to pick up the pieces and pretend that the things that you do are fine, that they don’t hurt me or impact on my life._ **

****

**_And I definitely can’t watch you self-destruct in front of my eyes without feeling like I’m being gutted from the inside out._ **

****

**_I know you’re sorry. I know you mean it when you say it, and I know that when it comes out of your mouth, it means something. It’s a rare and precious thing, getting you to admit you’re wrong. That you’ve_ ** **done _wrong. So I know that it’s true when you say it. I know you, remember?_**

****

**_But it doesn’t mean that all this didn’t hurt. That I don’t still hurt, Ben._ **

****

**_I know I’m nice. Too nice, maybe. I know that you say that’s a weakness. I also know that you’re a really, really good liar. And the one person you lie to most is you._ **

****

**_But I need you to know that I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t do this anymore. That I don’t want to. I don’t want to keep seeing you hurt and feeling like I don’t matter._ **

****

**_I don’t know how to fix any of this. I never said that I could._ **

****

**_But if you let me, if you’ll just ~~listen~~ – no, you know what? I do mean _ ** **listen _to what I’m saying, whether it’s with texts or signing or lipreading or whatever, then I will try my hardest to be there for you. To try to stop you from hurting._**

****

**_If you do that, then I can stay, Ben. I can stay with you, with us. I’ll work hard to be the best I can be for you and for me._ **

****

**_But not if you don’t try, too. Not if I’m always second, third, fourth on your list of priorities. Not if I have to find out from your mum that you’ve been arrested, that you’ve been off with other guys in bars. Not if I’m going to be left out in the cold again, like Christmas, like-_ **

****

**_Like after Keanu. Because I know you were hurting, and struggling, but I needed you there when I woke up, Ben. I needed to tell you about what it was like for me in that place, hearing your voice on the phone but not being able to speak to you, reach you, tell you I’m alright. How I kept seeing you when I was lying there, how I could hear your voice shouting for me, over and over, and how I never felt lonely, not once, because I believed you’d be coming to find me. Then you did. And I haven’t told you because I’m always too scared to rock the boat, to mess things up. And I never want to hurt you._ **

****

**_But I needed you. I still need you. And I’m sorry that I’m asking you now when you’re grieving and sad and struggling, but can’t we be those things together?_ **

****

**_I’m just so tired of feeling like I’m here to mop up after the fact. Like I have to be strong but sensitive, caring but never cared for. And God, even writing that down makes me want to hide; my dad would flip. If he didn’t already know I was gay, he’d definitely think I was after reading that._ **

****

**_But that’s just it, Ben. It’s supposed to be different with you._ **

****

**_I thought it was. It’s why I love you, why I love being around you and always want you to want me back. You saw me when no one else did. Now I’m telling you, I don’t think you’re seeing me anymore. I don’t think I’m seeing me. And I don’t want to go back to being invisible. Back to being lonely and lost and hiding._ **

****

**_I won’t._ **

****

**_I love you, Ben Mitchell. I’m proud to say it, I’m proud to write it._ **

****

**_But I’m also proud of who I am. And I need you to see that too._ **

****

**_All my love,_ **

****

**_Callum_ **

________________________________________________________

‘You writing me a Dear John letter?’

Callum jumped in his seat and flushed red, instantly hating himself for it. Ben had jerked forward at the reaction, reaching out, but paused mid-move, pulling his hand back and looking chastised.

‘Sorry. Thought you’d have heard me.’

His eyes were tired and Callum was pleased to see he’d at least taken out his lenses, swapping them for his glasses. 

He flashed Callum a wan smile and leaned against the door frame, head bowed. ‘I thought you’d ’ve gone.’

Callum sighed and looked back down at his hurried scrawls, making a sudden decision. He gripped the pages tightly and in one go, ripped them clear of the notebook. He folded them in half and then again, making sure that Ben was watching him do it. 

He stood up and saw the panic flash across Ben’s features, held back desperately. He could read every nuance; Ben felt he had no right to ask him to stay, no right to keep him here. He was undeserving, and would self-flagellate again and again, for all eternity if Callum let him.

Thrusting the paper forward, Callum tapped Ben’s chin with his other hand, encouraging him to read his lips.

‘I’m going for a walk. Read it. Please. I’ll be back.’

Ben’s gaze flicked from Callum’s lips to his eyes and back again, scared to miss something. He nodded briefly and wrapped both hands around the paper before pressing it to his mouth. He didn’t speak, and Callum hadn’t expected him to. Grabbing the notebook and stuffing it into his backpack once more, Callum zipped it up roughly before turning back. 

He touched a soft palm to the side of Ben’s face, then turned and left the kitchen, darting back upstairs to pull on his shirt, jacket and shoes, shoving the tie into his pocket. His heart was pounding in his chest and tears were rising inside of him, and Callum had no idea why. Whether it was Ben’s devastated acceptance of whatever Callum had written, or the feeling of finally, _finally_ having put down in words some of the things that he’d been needing to vent for so long.

As he crept down the stairs, he could hear stilted breaths in the kitchen, and could imagine Ben sitting at the table, alone. He swiped a sleeve across his eyes, pulled the front door open and didn’t look back.

*******************************************************************

He’d wanted to wander, to clear his mind for a little while, justifying it to himself that it’d give Ben time to read and absorb everything he’d scribbled on to the pages of his tatty notebook. In reality though, Callum knew that he just wanted to hide from it all, for an hour, two; he couldn’t imagine walking back into that house with everything that he’d written now out there, as clear and as stark as he’d ever been with Ben.

Orange hair bobbed along over the top of the bushes in his peripheral vision across the square and Callum ducked, cutting through the paths and out the other side to avoid Tiff as she made her way home. Their conversation seemed like a lifetime ago, but by the looks of it, she hadn’t even made it back to start cooking her special meal for Keegan yet.

_Hope her chat goes more smoothly than mine. How long did it take us to completely implode? Two minutes? Three? Longer than it takes to eat a steak, that’s for sure._

He huffed a sad laugh and made his way as quickly as possible back to the flat, darting up the stairs and praying that Stuart and Rainie were still at work. For the first time that day – that week, even – luck was on his side, and he grabbed a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt from his room, stripping bare in seconds and locking the bathroom door behind him.

After flipping the shower to its warmest temperature this side of scorching, Callum leaned forward and in towards the quickly fogging mirror.

He didn’t look any different.

He felt a little disappointed. 

Looking into his own eyes, he wondered at what he thought he’d see. What he’d expected. He couldn’t think of a sensible answer. Yet it felt as though he’d changed, as though he’d either grown or shrunk, evolved or diminished. Callum wasn’t sure what it was, what he should be seeing right now, but it wasn’t _this_. It certainly wasn’t _nothing_. Not when he felt as though everything had shifted, warped.

Letting his head hang down, he gripped the sides of the sink for a few moments more, testing his strength on the porcelain surface. It didn’t bend, didn’t break. It didn’t even move.

_Hmm. Don’t have much of an impact on anything, really, do you, Halfway? You could have walked up to Tiff out in the square and it would’ve made no difference at all. She would probably have trotted right by you and not thought twice about it. You’re good for cooking tips and that’s about it, these days._

His clenched fist came up and down, hard, crashing against the countertop to the side of the sink, quickly, and without conscious thought. Once, twice, a third time. The bones in his wrist stung, jarred and jangling and he realised he was panting. He brought the same hand up to his face and pressed it against his forehead, hiding his eyes and pushing, pushing. 

Callum had hurt himself many times in the past, mostly due to his clumsy nature, his lack of spatial awareness and just all-round inability to watch where he was going. But this was a flash back to a darker time, a time he’d desperately tried to forget. A sob was swallowed up by the splashing of the water hitting the shower tray and he shook his head, clenching the sore hand into a fist once more.

_No. Not now. Not now. Get in there, get showered, and go speak to Ben. That’s it. Then, whatever happens next, you deal with it._

_You deal with it, Halfway. You asked what about me? Well, this is your chance to make sure_ you matter too.

That first step into the shower seemed insurmountably vast, but it seemed to generate enough momentum to push Callum through the rest of the motions. He ran a flannel over his hot face, and ducked his head under the spray, pausing there for just long enough to cause his chest to catch in honest, automatic _want_. Using a sparing amount of shampoo, he knew that he was doing the bare minimum, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just needed it to be done, now. He needed, he, he wanted-

Callum turned the water off and dried himself in under three minutes, shoving still damp arms through his t-shirt sleeves and dragging the jogging pants on as the cloying bathroom air tried its hardest to slow him down. He didn’t feel any cleaner, and he certainly didn’t feel any more settled, but he was done.

Another three minutes was all it took to see him out of the front door and taking the long way around the square, before pausing just inside the back yard of the Mitchell house. 

His arms were sticking to the inside of his hoody and his scalp was freezing, hair still wet and flopping forwards of its own accord. With an exasperated sigh, Callum swept a hand up and through the wayward fringe, wincing as he remembered the damage he’d inflicted on himself.

He pulled the grey sleeve down further over his pulsing wrist and reached for the door handle with his other hand.

Callum stopped, just for a breath. Half a breath. Rested his head against the door and bounced in place, eyes shut.

_Whatever happens, Halfway. You’ve got to see it through. To whatever end is coming. You see it through._

He exhaled and pushed at the same time, wincing as he seemed to burst into the silence of the kitchen with indelicate abandon. Callum stopped dead with an apology already forming on his lips, blinds clattering back against the door behind him, but cut the words off before they could spill over as he scanned the empty room. 

_No ripped up paper. No scattered chairs or smashed plates._

_No Ben._

Unthinking, he picked up his half empty glass of water from earlier and placed it in the sink, running the tap to rinse it out before snapping off the stream and frowning at himself. 

_Go and find him. Go._

Another voice inside Callum stubbornly argued that he was always the one doing the chasing, but he quashed it with a venom that surprised him. He was set on this, now. He needed it done.

It was already hurting them too much. Hurting _him_.

He’d assumed Ben would have retreated upstairs. That’s what he’d been doing for weeks now; hiding away to avoid having to lipread, to avoid having to face other people, his deafness, Denny’s death, his dad, Sharon-

Callum was brought up short when he passed by the living room doorway and realised that Ben was sitting on one of the hardback chairs, but was lying almost prone with his chest flat against the tabletop, head pillowed on his arm. He was staring at a piece of the notebook that he’d positioned just to the side of his head, folded a few times and springing up whenever his hand left its surface. Ben clearly hadn’t realised he was there, and after Callum’s spectacularly graceful entrance, it solidified beyond any doubt that his deafness was debilitating to him. Making no effort to deal with it was leaving Ben isolated but, more than that, defenceless in a world where he’d tried his utmost to make himself invulnerable. Callum’s face twisted at the sight and he watched as Ben moved his finger tips over the words in front of him, glasses sitting askew at his contorted position.

He took a step forward and the movement must have grabbed Ben’s attention, as he shot upright, eyes as wide as they could be while ringed with red and swollen as they were.

‘You came back.’

Callum moved further into the room and, after a moment of indecision, pulled out the chair opposite Ben, with the table between them. Ben clearly acknowledged the choice, swallowing visibly but nodding in understanding. There was a distance that needed to be maintained if they were to do this. They needed to speak so they could both hear, and listen to what the other had to say. If that took writing it down or texting or lipreading, Callum would sit there all night. But he needed Ben to know that he mattered. That what he thought and felt _mattered_. 

‘Of course I did. I said I would.’

Ben’s head ticked to the side and Callum sighed at himself.

He lifted a hand and apologised, slowly.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I’ll speak slower. I’ll-’

He didn’t get any further, even as he was reaching into his pocket for his phone in case he needed it.

‘No, no, Callum. You don’t apologise. You don’t ever have to apologise. None of this is on you. _None of it_. You hear me?’

The inherent comedy in Ben saying those words out loud even as he sat in a world of silence did not appeal to Callum in the slightest, but it must have tickled Ben slightly as his lips curled upwards just a hint for the first time in what seemed like forever. Callum’s traitorous heart beat a touch faster at the sight and he tried as hard as he could to ignore it. 

He didn’t react to Ben’s question. Surely it was rhetorical anyway; he knew he hadn’t caused any of this. He knew, _logically_ , that this was on Phil, and Keanu, and yes, ultimately Ben himself. He knew all of that. But Callum still knew one thing about himself, at least; he was a natural-born apologiser. 

_Becomes second-nature when you’re always trying to placate people, trying to please. When you’re just desperate to fit in, to be liked. When you just can’t say no-_

Callum snapped out of his own spiralling thoughts as he realised that Ben was pushing the paper towards him across the table. He reached out and pulled it to himself, spinning it around and looking at the section that Ben had folded it to. His held his face impassive as he read the words, but clenched his sore hand under the tabletop as his insides cringed with embarrassment, the waves of physical pain pushing aside the emotional, at least for a few seconds.

**_You saw me when no one else did. Now I’m telling you, I don’t think you’re seeing me anymore. I don’t think I’m seeing me. And I don’t want to go back to being invisible._ **

He pushed the paper back into the middle of the table and clapped a hand over his mouth. He wouldn’t meet Ben’s eyes, couldn’t bring himself to. _What were you thinking, Halfwit? Pouring everything out like that? Putting things on paper that you can’t take back? Like a maudlin teenager, crying over every melodrama up in your room, overreacting to every-_

The palm that pulled his face to the side was every inch as delicate as that first handhold in the market square. The warmth and solidity that radiated down his neck, across his upper chest made him inhale without thinking and suddenly, there were tears, tears and sobbing and he couldn’t stop them and he couldn’t _think_ and-

Callum had no idea how long he sat there with his face buried in Ben’s midriff. He didn’t count the minutes or even feel them passing, but by the time he could bring himself to sit back, swiping a stiff, sore hand over his face, he knew two things: Ben’s t-shirt was ruined and he was exhausted.

The room was darker than when he’d walked in, but not by much, so it couldn’t have been the eternity that it had felt like. But with the way the muscles in his stomach were aching, he figured it was probably a good twenty minutes of wailing and weeping that he had to say sorry for.

‘Don’t you even think about apologising.’

Callum’s eyes rose of their own accord and he almost started up again as he took in Ben’s ravaged features. His eyes were worse than ever, glasses partially steamed up and streaked from multiple attempts to wipe them with fingers or whatever else was close by. Even his hair looked limp and miserable, flattened against his forehead in gentle wisps that begged for Callum’s hands to rake through them.

‘You deserved every second of that. Every single second. You deserve to be able to cry and hide and feel safe and I haven’t been there to give you any of it. _Any of it_. And I deserve every second of guilt that I’m feeling for making you go through it all by yourself, for being selfish and impulsive and just, just so goddamn _awful_ to be around on a daily basis. Every _second_ of that guilt, I deserve. And I’ll feel it for the rest of our lives. I _should feel it_ for the rest of our lives, Callum. Because if I ever forget it, forget this, forget what I’ve made you feel or what I’ve almost pushed you into losing, then you’re right. I wouldn’t deserve you. Wouldn’t deserve _this_.’

Ben’s hands were caressing the sides of his face, wiping away tear tracks and pushing back Callum’s still damp hair with a gentleness that he rarely displayed, but Callum had seen from the start.

‘I wouldn’t deserve you. And God only knows, I’ve done enough to deserve to _lose_ you. A dozen times over. And I’m so grateful and so proud that you’ve chosen me, that you’ve chosen to stay even this long.’

He ducked down and pressed a kiss to Callum’s forehead, holding his lips there for one beat, then another, almost as though he was catching his thoughts, drawing some inspiration from the show of intimacy.

Callum didn’t close his eyes. He was held almost as in rapture, watching Ben’s mouth move as if he were the one needing to lipread. Reading the words on Ben’s lips felt as though they were more true, more honest if he could see them being formed just centimetres away from his face. Feel the warmth of his breath as it accompanied them. Locking them in as a promise, a declaration both spoken and visual.

‘And you’re right. In all of this, I’ve been ignoring everything that you need, everything that I should have been giving you. This isn’t just you supporting me, you _fixing_ me. That can’t be on you and you alone, Cal.’

Ben hooked his foot around the leg of the nearest chair and pulled it closer, so he could sit directly in front of Callum, keeping one palm against his cheek and the other on his knee, a light touch that served to ground the both of them. Callum’s own hand dropped to rest just by Ben’s, only fingertips touching, tentative and telling.

‘I can’t tell you how brave you are. I don’t have the words that you do, couldn’t write down all the rubbish that’s in my head most days. It’s like the world’s screaming at me, tearing itself apart inside my ears, but I can’t hear any of the things that matter. Any of the things that _should_ matter.’

His fingers rise and fall, tempted to reach out but still not there, not just yet.

‘But all I know is, Cal, when you said you were done? That’s the only thing that I’ve heard in weeks. Not the sound, obviously-’

Ben’s head fell forward at that, but quickly righted itself with a wry, self-deprecating half-smile.

‘But your face, well, that spoke volumes. Even with you screaming at me, none of it was as loud and as clear as how sad you were, how disappointed and angry and-’

His voice started to crack and Callum’s hand pushed forward, instinctive, wrapping itself around Ben’s and squeezing. Ben shook his head though, and cleared his throat.

‘No. No, you had every right to feel those things; I needed to see it. I wish I hadn’t, but I… I really needed to see it. And then this, with your letter and all of the bits of the last few weeks that you’ve had to deal with by yourself and then me acting like the worst- _Me_ , daring _you_ to _do your worst_ …’

Ben’s snort takes them both by surprise and Callum’s face softens imperceptibly as their eyes meet naturally for the first time that afternoon.

‘I mean... You really don’t even see how strong you are, do you? One little sentence and I’m done. Seven words, that’s all it took. I was _done_. And I know, Cal, this doesn’t make everything right. I know that. But I do need you to know that even, even if-’

Ben shuffles forward, their knees knocking together as his eyes remained locked on Callum’s. His hand is still on Callum’s cheek, but the fingers dip and bend, just the once, as though capturing the sensation, memorising the texture in case it was their last opportunity.

‘Even if this is it for us. God, you _have_ to know that you’re _everything_. You said you feel invisible; I see you _everywhere_. When you were missing, it was as though I’d lost all sense of direction, all reason to exist; beyond Lexi, I stopped doing anything, thinking about _anything else_. I couldn’t hear, yeah, but it didn’t matter, because your voice wasn’t here anyway.’

Callum was suddenly aware of his heart beating faster and faster, of the heat building up in his face once more. He’d thought he was out of tears. Ben was trying to prove him wrong. 

‘And I know I let you down by not being there when you woke up. I know that, and I’m sorry-’ He raised his hand quickly to stop Callum’s intake of breath from turning into a rebuke. ‘No, Callum. Let me say this. I am sorry. And that doesn’t make up for it, and it doesn’t _fix things_ , as you said. But-’

Ben took in a deep breath and finally looked away, turning his face to the ceiling in an attempt to drain the moisture from his eyes once more. He tightened his fingers in Callum’s grip and let his other hand drop, before pushing it back through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all kinds of strange ways. It brought a tiny smile to Callum’s face that was probably out of place, but he couldn’t help himself. 

‘If you’ll give me a chance, I want to work with you to be better. To, to make you feel like you _matter_. Because you _do_ , Callum. You _do._ And most days, there’s nothing else that I’d rather be doing than spending time with you, reminding you of exactly how much you matter to me. I just, I lost sight of that for a while.’

He watched as Ben’s head dropped again, mouth quivering and his attempt to stem the flood of tears failing miserably. 

‘I lost sight of a lot of things.’

The silence hung between them, heavy and full. Callum suddenly realised how long it had been since he’d spoken, and made to clear his throat, but paused, overly aware of breaking the quiet wide open. And again, he had to remind himself of how things had changed. Ben wouldn’t hear him, anyway.

Callum licked his lips and closed his eyes for a second. Then, slowly but with purpose, he reached forward with his sore hand and tapped Ben’s chin with a fingertip, until their eyes met.

‘You listening?’

Ben’s expression was wide open and contrite, watching for any sign of hope or forgiveness, desperate to catch every word that dropped from Callum’s lips. He nodded quickly and scrunched up his face, staring hard at Callum’s mouth.

‘I don’t want sorry, Ben. I just want _this_. I want you to talk to me, and for you to listen to what I want.’

Callum watched as Ben nodded, vigorously, clutching at their clasped hands with both of his but not daring to interrupt.

‘And I need you to _try_. Do you understand? I need you to stop ignoring everything and _try_. I know it will be hard. I know you’re hurting. But I’ll be there, so long as you’ll let me. To go to sign language classes. To go through the surgery.’

He stopped and took a breath. So far, so good; Callum was watching closely for any signs of balking, but Ben’s face remained engaged and willing. _Now to really push him…_

‘To speak to Sharon. And to go to Denny’s funeral.’

The sudden inhalation wasn’t surprising, but the sudden shift of their joined hands rising to push against Ben’s mouth was, jerking Callum forward and forcing him to the edge of his seat as he hurried to reach out, to wrap his hand around the back of Ben’s head and drag his fingernails across his scalp in a now habitual reaction. 

His slowly bruising hand contested the movement and Callum gritted his teeth at the pull of swollen skin, even as he hurried to comfort. 

‘Hey, hey; it’s alright, Ben. I’ll be there, I’ll be with you for all of it, I promise. I’ll be there.’

He pulled Ben towards him but their seated positions made it difficult to fit together, so Ben pulled away after a moment. Callum ran his useless hand down Ben’s arm and repeated his words now that his boyfriend could actually see them.

‘I’ll be with you. All of the way, I’ll be there. Okay?’

Ben’s lips trembled, but he nodded. 

‘Okay.’

Callum eased forward, putting himself within a breath’s space of Ben.

‘I love you, Ben Mitchell.’

Ben’s face twisted and he fell forward once more, pushing his face into his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, shoulders pulling and seizing with the force of his sobs. Callum sat, good hand on Ben’s head, waiting. Just waiting and being there. 

He felt surprisingly calm, now. Callum couldn’t explain it; at this point, he’d run out of words to even try.

But that nasty voice in his head had shut up as soon as he’d seen Ben, as soon as they were back in each other’s orbit. It was when they were apart, Callum knew, that his doubts started to creep in. Sometimes his own voice, sometimes others: Jack or Stuart, Whitney or his dad. _Who are you, Halfway? Who were you, ever? And now, look at you. Who have you become? Do you really matter to him? Do you ever cross his mind? Why are you still with him? Will he ever want you like you need him?_

But the pull between them had always been irresistible. Stronger than gravity in some respects; it held him in place, where he was meant to be and he truly believed that, but God, sometimes the pressure was crushing. To be out, to be proud, to know how to act or how to be, to know what to do or say, to fit in, to reach out or hold back, to admit his feelings or keep quiet, to love him or… 

That was, until they were back in sync, until they righted themselves. In those times, he was the happiest he’d ever been. Everything seemed natural and right, as though he was made for this. As though it should always have been. Problem was, for the last little while, they hadn’t been in alignment. Ben’s erratic nature overwhelming against his own, burgeoning strength. But sitting there, with his palm the only thing keeping Ben from spinning off his axis once more, Callum suddenly felt that tear – that twist that he’d looked for in the mirror in his bathroom what seemed like a year ago, that he was sure should be visible – had righted itself. That whatever had grown warped or unbalanced between them had been settled. 

Callum wasn’t so naïve as to think that it couldn’t – or wouldn’t – happen again. Ben was a force of nature. 

Callum knew it.

Had always known it.

He loved it.

But at least now, they could grow together. Forget Ben being ‘better’; they both could be. They’d both need to be. Because as much as he would never break his promise, Callum knew all too well that the coming days would be awful. Heart-breaking in ways that writing a letter and holding hands couldn’t fix. Still. Callum had been honest. He didn’t know how to _fix_ things. But he could be there. And he could try. As long as they were together, he’d happily try. 

He stood, slowly, stretching his legs as he reached down, levering Ben up and over to the sofa. He was hungry now, and achy, tired and wrung out. Still, when Callum dropped down into the corner seat, it was like slotting into place. Like everything he was doing had a meaning, a purpose to it. Ben’s instinctive flop to rest against him just emphasised it, and he couldn’t help but hold a solid palm to the side of Ben’s head, teasing the soft hairs at the crown and they just sat, still and quiet.

‘What’s wrong with your hand?’

Callum snapped out of his reverie to look at his wrist, lying on his right thigh then down at Ben’s upturned face, which was now fixed into a frown. He flexed the fingers and winced, but shrugged his shoulder, unperturbed.

‘Nothing. Just thought we should be matching, ey?’

His smile did little to ease Ben’s concern, and he held still as Ben sat up and cradled his injured wrist in a cool palm. 

‘You did this to yourself?’

Callum felt his cheeks flame and knew Ben was thinking back to that time, months ago, when he’d seen him with a beer bottle, seen him at one of his lowest points. Seen him turn on himself out of sheer frustration and desperation. He could see the guilt in his eyes and decided then and there it was time to end it.

‘I was angry, Ben. And yeah, I lashed out a little. But it’s fine. I’ll ice it later, yeah?’ 

Ben shook his head. 

‘You’ll ice it now.’

Callum pursed his lips and tried to suppress a smile. 

‘I will when you do.’

Ben squinted behind his glasses, trying to see how he’d fallen into this trap. 

‘Fine. But you get the ice.’

Callum snorted.

‘Why, your legs stopped working now, too?’

Ben couldn’t push the smile down and laid Callum’s hand back on his thigh. 

‘Very clever, Mr Highway. Very clever. I’ll let you ‘ave that one, this time.’ He pushed himself to his feet and Callum could hear him hunting around in the freezer before returning with two tea towels, a bag of frozen peas and half a packet of potato smiley faces.

‘No ice to be found in there. Lo must have been going at it with the cocktails or summat. So, pick your poison, Mr Copper. Peas or smiles. Your choice.’

Callum grinned, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

‘Smileys, of course. Lexi’s favourite, right?’

Ben’s expression fell into the adoring softness that took Callum’s breath away. He watched as Ben stepped over his legs and resumed his seat, switching the telly on as he passed. He pushed himself against Callum’s warm side before settling his hand under the peas and rubbing his head on Callum’s hoody. Sliding further down into the cushions, Callum let out a sigh and balanced the smiley faces over his wrist on the arm of the chair.

‘What a pair we make, ey?’

Ben’s quiet question seemed both wistful and questing, one last need for confirmation before he could settle back into their bubble; this new, delicate but beautiful bubble.

He tightened his good arm and pressed a kiss to the top of Ben’s head.

‘Yeah. A right pair.’

Callum smiled to himself and let his lips rest against Ben’s hair for a moment longer, closing his eyes and letting the inane chatter on screen fill up the room around them.

_Him and Ben. Ben and him._

_The pair of them._

_He’d never felt more right._


End file.
